


Pride of the Venturer

by Black_Claided_Cat



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Drama and Humor, F/M, Family, Follows directly, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Claided_Cat/pseuds/Black_Claided_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mild mannered Freya Took has always been curious for an adventure. Now she has one, in the company of thirteen dwarfs, a hobbit and a wizard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings or any affiliates. This is a work of fiction, on fiction, and I'm not making any profit off of this whatsoever. Rites to the books and movies go to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. Pride of the Venturer is mine, and I expect that people will respect my wishes on not distributing it outside of AO3 and FFdotNet.

Once upon a time  
There was a girl who  
Lost her  
Body, mind, soul and pride.  
-

 

“I don't think you know quite what you're asking, Mr. Gandalf.”

“Oh, I assure you, I very much do.”

It was a nice sunny day. A bright, beautiful, gorgeous and peaceful sunny day. The clouds had disappeared in the afternoon breeze, bringing in the scent of flowers and hay to all corners of Hobbiton. Sun shined down upon leaves to bask the world in light and glory. Cheerful hobbits greeted neighbors, bare feet pitter pattering on the dirt paths.

Well, at any rate, from Freya's hole at Overhill it was at least sunny.

The place itself was nicely settled along the main road in and out of Hobbiton, with plenty of room for gardening and festives. However, as the only inhabiting Took in town, as well as having a father of mysterious origin, Freya was viewed as a less than respectable hobbit. This caused Freya's dwellings to be looked upon with an evil eye, dampening the mood and wilting the flowers.

But, it was to be expected.

As was habit, at noon Freya was watering her failing flowers at the front of her blue painted door. What was unexpected, however, was the grey cloaked and capped wizard wandering up to her door. That was where things became quite odd.

“Well. Then I'm not quite sure what you are asking of me.” Freya leaned against her green fence as she avoided the wizard's eye. She had long since set her water pail down, and was now fiddling with a flower bud, crushing it completely.

“Very simple, my dear Freya Took. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

This was the second time he presented the outrageous statement to the hobbit. But an entity in her gut was trying to tell her something. Perhaps about how she remembered who Gandalf was based off her dear departed mother, Conia Took's stories. Or maybe it was trying to tell her that those mushrooms she had eaten for second breakfast were a few days too old.

“An adventure? Now-” She looked up at the wizard, trying to explain herself.

“Give up this nonsense, Took! I have heard it once before and I shall not hear the same excuse again!” Gandalf bristled up, and his voice deepened. The words were simple enough, but his agitation startled Freya.

“Again? What-”

“Your cousin. Bilbo Baggins-” Gandalf began, tone smoothing out completely, leaving Freya in a bit of a lingering nervousness that she had somehow offended him. “Bilbo?”

“I invited him along-” Gandalf explained, he seemed not want to touch the subject. But alas Freya continued.

“And did he accept?” “Not quite-” the wizard said timidly, before squaring his shoulders and continuing with another resolve. Meanwhile, Freya mumbled to herself, rubbing her chin, only half listening to Gandalf.

“Seems right, he has become too much like Uncle Bungo to go on an adventure-”  
“-But I have invited our Company to Bag End this evening, and it is up to Bilbo if he would like to join. Therefore, I would very much enjoy if you would attend dinner, as I would like to extend the same offer to you.”

Freya looked up, paying attention now. “... Dinner?”

“Yes. And there you will find the information of our quest, should you decide to attend.”

“Well, I suppose it would not hurt,” Freya trailed off in thought, looking down the road where Bag End lay.

Gandalf became cheerful and smiled at the female hobbit.“That is the spirit! I shall see you then.”

“But that doesn't mean I accept,” Freya warned, looking up again at the wizard. He tilted his head knowingly. She gave him a meaningful look, “Until then, Mr. Gandalf.”

“Until then.”

Freya picked up her pail and returned inside. Right before she closed the round door she paused and looked back at the retreating grey glob. “It's all because I'm a Took, isn't it,” she muttered, shaking her head and swinging the door closed behind her.

“Everyone thinks Tooks are something special.”  
–

It was long since dark before Freya remembered her arrangement for dinner at Bilbo's. Seated at her desk, she was hunched over a parchment notebook she was filling with intricate calligraphy. Once she finished a page, she stood on her chair and placed the fresh writings on top of the tall book stacks that were on her desk. The cluttered surface was stained with wax, ink and other fluids, and was piled high with tomes and trinkets accumulated from Freya's writings. She was filled with imagination but she had either no desire or opportunity to act upon her whimsical fantasies, Freya did not know which. The only source of light came from a thick candle that had spilled its wax upon the book it rested.

She actually only realized the time and plans when her cat, sitting high up on a stack of tomes, lept down onto her desk. With the rush of movements, a mess was made. Parchment slid, the candle toppled onto the floor and the inkwell tipped over, staining her papers. In the center of the disorder the cat sat, pleased at gaining its mistress' attention.

Freya sighed and leaned back, looking at the mess with a blank expression on her face. From her reaction and the state the desk was in, it was obvious that this was not the first time the feline had caused such destruction.

“I didn't like the way that page was turning out, anyway,” she said as she stood up with a scrape of her chair. She patted the cat on the head, leaving a black stain on its short chocolate coat, before turning and getting a cloth to soak up most of the ink.

The cat meowed, eyes trailing her as she relight the candle in her fireplace. “Yes, I do believe it is time for dinner,” Freya replied before she froze. She straightened her back and turned around, wide eyed at her cat.

“Dinner at Bilbo's,” she whispered, mortified at her forgetfulness. She set down the candle and rushed off into her room, leaving her cat sitting in a puddle of ink, looking at the door she just left through curiously.

Freya rushed back through the door, this time wearing her finest blouse and hopping into a soft green skirt, and out the other. She came back in, fixing on a darker green over-skirt before putting on a yellow vest. “I totally forgot! Thank you, Nitwick,” came a muffled shout from beneath the fabric as she pulled it over her head. The cat meowed in reply, still looking intently at her. She tossed on a brown coat and grabbed her boots. “I can't make any dinner for you. You'll just have to get what you want. I don't know how long I'll be, so don't stay up.”

She slipped her home-made boots over her small, soft feet. There were no cobblers in the Shire, and the abnormality of Freya Took's human-like feet were of much gossip to the other hobbits. Her feet were not as smooth as her hands were, but they did not develop the thick, leather soles so common in other hobbits. This required an ever embarrassed Freya to wear boots on outings. She had long since accepted her oddity, but it still hurt that she was different and often met with contempt.

Freya straightened her back and resolve, donned her cloak, and opened her door to wander into the night.

Outside, it was dark. Well, mostly dark. Stars twinkled overhead, and the moon shone at crescent, lighting up Hobbiton. The breeze returned to bring in clouds, along with many dark patches of sky.

But where is was dark, Freya could not see. Which, to the poor girl, meant that she ended up tripping her way through, and even going down the wrong road. Once, only one time.

It was a warm April night, almost the end of the season, and the rain showers have not yet ceased to drop its gold. Dew coated the leaves of each plant, and when Freya had the misfortune of straying slightly off the path, or being under the opportune moment of a tree, she was coated with the wetness. Not that she minded, honestly. However, it was soiling her favorite skirt. But, it was not as though she minded.

She hummed happily as she turned onto the road that lead to Bag End. Clouds began to draw in more, brining in the offering of rain. This caused it to grow darker, and soon Freya was having trouble picking her path in the dark. If only she had remembered and left earlier!

A hobbit hole door was opening, spilling light onto the road and a joyful jig into the air as a group of hobbits walked out onto the porch and bid their hosts goodnight. At seeing Freya, the guests smiled and waved, which she returned. But the host, Mr. Underhill, she could tell, frowned at her appearance. She knew the family for their generosity of food, not their kindness of heart. Freya stopped a moment to speak a quick hello to the kind Lila Bramble and her quiet husband.

“Oh, dear,” the elderly lady-hobbit said, hand at her breast as she looked over Freya's shoulder.

“What?” Freya asked as she turned to look.

“Is that a dwarf?” Lila whispered. But Freya did not know, she squinted her eyes to see in the night. At last she saw a figure walking in the dark, coming down from the path Freya would have gone. Short, but taller than Mr. Bramble, and as wide as the three hobbits together. Definitely a dwarf. But why would one be wandering through Hobbiton?

He walked closer, and it seemed that they would have their answer, but the glaring that Mr. Bramble was giving him seemed to deter him and he turned off the lane before Freya could make more than eye contact with him.

“What a world we're coming to now,” Lila muttered, shaking her head. She kindly touched Freya's shoulder and said a farewell before leaving with her husband.

Freya pursed her lips, conjuring a thought. But before it could form she dispelled it with a shake of her own head, and she continued on in the dark. She traveled up the path the dwarf had taken down, up to where Bag End lay. It would not be a much farther walk, but Freya was hoping that she would make it before dinner had passed. She had no idea who the 'company' contained, or how much of an appetite they had.

A light was shining in the neighborhood circle to her right, a hobbit was poking his head out of his door to look at something. Freya cast her eyes over to figure out what he was looking at, but then she bumped into it.

“Oh! Excuse me!” “My apologies.”  
She had bumped into the dwarf that had went down the road earlier. It seemed as though he just walked the loop and came back out the other end.

She backed up and stared at him. He had dark hair and a short beard, and was wearing a cloak over blue traveling garb and furs. He was most definitely a dwarf, and not from around here. “Are you lost?”

He looked exasperated and opened his mouth to retort, but Freya cut him off unintentionally.

“Because, I mean. I saw you were up there,” she pointed, “And you walked down there,” she pointed again, “And now you're here. And, I mean. No one goes down there, because Minto Sandybanks is really. Mean.” She made awkward hand movements, trying to explain herself. She was very intimidated by this man. She had seen dwarves before, but had never talked to one personally.

“So can I,” she waved her hand in thought, “Uh, help you? I mean. If you are lost. Not saying that you are!” She yipped, seeing his offended look. “But. I mean. Ah, never mind,” she turned to go.

“I am searching for 'Bag End'.”

Freya froze and turned. The stranger had spoken. He was going to Bag End? Then he must be one of the 'company' Gandalf spoke of before. Just what was the wizard cooking up for his “adventure”. But this gave Freya more clues on what it entailed. Dwarves? Hobbits?

“Well, you passed his hole earlier,” she smiled at him, he had come down from the road she was planning on taking. His face remained undaunted, but she could tell he was frustrated. “I can bring you there. I'm visiting Bilbo, as well.”

“Are you the burglar?” he asked surprised. “The what?” He shook his head, “Never mind.”

Freya eyeballed him, but remained silent. “I'm Freya Took.”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” She offered a hand, trying to keep confidence in her face, and he gave hers a firm shake. He was interesting, to say the least.

In the darkness they turned to travel up to Bag End. The short journey was quiet, and Freya was proud to say she did not trip off the road or make a fool of herself. Soon they were upon the green door of Bag End, and Freya could hear the sound of merrymaking from within.

She rang the bell and stepped back to wait. A moment passed and she rang again. No change from inside. Freya looked at Thorin, who was examining the flowers.

“Have you seen them before?” she asked quietly, not sure if her question would offend him.

His gaze returned to her and he answered, “I'm sure I've seen them thrice now.” She smiled, amused, and Thorin rolled his eyes, but smiled as well.

Turning back to the door, Freya sighed as it seemed that no one was answering it. What kind of ruckus was going on? She rang again and then knocked as hard as she could, determined.

“Let me,” Thorin stepped beside her, and she gladly moved back. He laid his fist hard against the door three times, and the sound within stopped.

He looked down at Freya as if to say “See?”, and it was her turn to roll her eyes at him. But the door did open, so she was pleased. However, it was not Bilbo that was behind the nob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just starting this up, I have many things planned but I'm just going to let the characters and side plot flow. It will follow the main movie story-line, along with additions from the book and my own creative excerpts.
> 
> I'm planning this as an eventual romance between Freya and Kili, but we'll see how it goes. (As for romance plot and such, I have never read any Kili/OC fics as to remain neutral in my storytelling. But if you have any recommendations on how the romance should progress, please say so.) Maybe side/implied Thilbo. But defiantly lots of family and fun, and I'm trying for humor.
> 
> I want as much criticism as you, yes you the reader, can give me. Plot, characterization, writing style. Anything at all! If you like something, tell me. If you don't tell me. Even if you don't like any of my own characters, tell me (some things are the way they are, however, and will be revealed later). And if anyone is interesting in beta-ing it, YES! I want you to. Just contact me.


	2. An Adventure Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended on having the first two chapters together, but after looking back on it it seemed to long. So here's the second part!

Little little hobbit  
Knocking on a door  
Call you once, call you twice  
Let me try some more.  
–

“Gandalf,” Thorin said, stepping inside, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice. Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for Lady Freya.”

“Freya? What are you- you're not suppose to be here,” Bilbo pushed out from behind a dwarf to look at Freya. She followed in behind Thorin, who unclasped his cloak and folded it gently over his arm while Freya hung her own cloak and jacket on the last free peg on the wall.

“Yes, she is. I invited her myself,” Gandalf said as he closed the door. “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin was smiling at a young, dark haired dwarf that came up behind him, but he now turned to look at Bilbo.

“So,” Thorin stepped over to examine him. “This is the Hobbit.” Freya raised her brows. Leader, then. Thorin did have a prideful demeanor. And now it sounded as though her new companion was judging Bilbo. She assumed this had to do with his comment of 'burglar' from earlier. Was Bilbo to fill that position? Thorin would surely be disappointed.

Thorin circled Bilbo like a predator. “Tell me mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

“Pardon me?” her cousin replied. He was actually calmer than Freya expected, but it seems as though he already had to deal with the rest of the company, all dwarves. Which were quite a few, as Freya could see.

“Axe or sword. Tell me, what's your weapon of choice?”

“Well, I do have some skill at Conkers, if you must know” Bilbo smiled smugly, and Freya had to as well. Bilbo sassing a dwarf was a sight to behold, and he did play a mean game of Conkers; Freya would know, she lost against Bilbo many times. Thorin finished his walk around of Bilbo, and was now staring down at him. Bilbo faltered, “But I, uh, fail to see why that's relevant.”

“Thought as much,” Thorin crossed his arms and turned his head to look at the companions behind him. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” The other dwarves laughed, and they turned to lead Thorin to the dining area.

There was that word again. Burglar. Why is it so important to the adventure. Freya supposed she would find out later, but did he have to insult Bilbo? Well, her cousin did sort of do the same to him...

Freya followed suit and watched as they placed Thorin at the head of the table and placed a bowl of soup in front of him. A round of ale was passed around by a blond dwarf, and they all seated themselves except for Bilbo and Freya.

“Now what exactly are you doing here?” Bilbo said after pulling her in a corner outside of the dining area where the dwarves were discussing some politics.

“Gandalf invited me here to think upon his offer, I thought I might come,” the brunette hobbit replied as she fiddled with the end of her hair, looking at the carpet.

“Yes, I see that you are here. But why?” Freya looked up at him, her cousin looked miffed. “What did Gandalf say to you this morning? About this 'company'.”

Bilbo sighed at her attempt to change the subject and gave her a hard look. She spread her hands to the side, “Gandalf said I should come, and so I have. I think I might actually be interested in this adventure. I mean. Oh, I really don't know.”

The other hobbit nodded his head, accepting her answer, as he himself did not know what he was going to do. “He hasn't told me much, I doubt I know more than you. Let's just see what this hubbub is all about.” Bilbo paused. “Have you eaten?”

“I have come for dinner, haven't I?” Freya smiled at him, he returned it. Bilbo scavenged what was left of some food and handed her a plate and kept himself a mug of tea.

“Your pantry sure took a beating,” she remarked.

“And the carpet, and the plumbing,” Bilbo replied. “But I managed to save the jam!” They laughed and returned to the dining area.

“They say that this quest is ours, and ours alone,” Thorin finished the statement he was saying as Freya pulled herself into a corner and Bilbo the other.

“You're going on a quest?” Bilbo asked.

Gandalf looked behind him, startled at seeing him there. “Bilbo, my dear fellow. Let us have a little more light.”

Bilbo made an unimpressed sound at Gandalf's own attempt of changing the subject, but nodded and went to get a candle.  
“Far to the east,” the wizard drew an old piece of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table, “Over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak.”

Gandalf touched his finger on the map, pointing at the single mountain. Bilbo returned and leaned over the wizard’s shoulder, using the candle in his right hand to look at it. “The... Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read. Freya scooted around the dwarf with the funny hat who was smoking his pipe. She stood behind Thorin as she, too, gazed at the map.

“Aye!” Freya looked up to see a dwarf with a wild red mane of hair speak. “Óin has read the portents and the portents say it is time.” The two dwarves to his right rolled their eyes and shook their heads at the red dwarf.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold,” the grey maned dwarf across from the red one spoke, “'When the behrents of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.'”

“O-a. What beast?” Bilbo asked from the hallway, having returned the dishes Thorin and Freya were using.

“Well, that would be a reference to Smaug The Terrible. Chiefest and greatest calamity of our Age,” the odd hatted one spoke from beside Freya. By now she noticed that most were all smoking. Indoors of all places, Freya thought with disdain.

“Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat-hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals-”  
“Yes, I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo interrupted, looking a bit pale and wringing his hands.

“I'm not afraid,” a young dwarf said standing up abruptly, he had a thin beard and was wearing a knitted cardigan. “I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksey!” Cheers of “good lad!” and “that's right!” sounded, but the dwarf to his left, with a grey, fussily braided beard, grabbed his shoulder and told him to sit down, but not after glaring accusingly at the tri-braided dwarf to his left. Perhaps they were related, Freya mused. If not then they had an interesting relationship.

“The path will be difficult enough with an army behind us,” an aged dwarf began, “but we number just thirteen. Nor thirteen of the best. Nor brightest.”

“Oy! Who are you calling dim?” “What do ya mean?” “What is 'e sayin'?” were a few of the offended mutters that Freya heard, and she thought perhaps the aged dwarf was as wise as he looked.

“We may be few in number!” another young dwarf, this time blond, thumped his fist against the table. Next to him a dark haired youth looked intently at him, absorbing his words. “But we're fighters. Every one of us, to the last dwarf!”

“And you forget we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!” the brown youth said quite exuberantly.

“Oh, well, no, no. I- I. I wouldn't say that,” said wizard stuttered.

“Well how many then,” the fussy beard dwarf said.

“What?”

“Well how many dragons have you killed?”

Thorin turned his gaze to Gandalf, giving him a curious look. Gandalf began coughing on the smoke of his pipe.

“Comon, give us a number!” The next moment a balded, tattooed dwarf was standing, and the tri-bearded yelling, and then soon everyone was standing and yelling.

Freya backed away in a bit of a fright, bumping into Bilbo. He, seeing her terror, tried to interrupt the argument. “Uh, excuse me. P-please, please,” he began, but they paid him no mind.

“Enough!” Thorin shouted, standing. And all the dwarves grew silent and sat. Thorin's presence was powerful, and his words and demeanor radiated seriousness.

“If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing. Wondering. Weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor!” The dwarves cheered at his inspirational speech, and Thorin shouted a few words in a foreign language.

“You forget, the front gate is sealed,” the aged dwarf spoke. They all sat, sobering from the mood shift. “There is no way into the mountain.”

So their quest is to reclaim their homeland? From a dragon? Freya's eyes widened at the realization. Erebor seemed a long way off, just how far or long have they traveled. She did not know much about the company, they truly seemed like a rag-tag bunch. But, it is there home. Freya had always known a home in the Shire. People did like her, and the kind hobbits made up in tenfold for those that had less than kind thoughts. Perhaps. No, it was foolish. But. Maybe Freya could help them regain their home.

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf spoke to the aged dwarf, Balin, and as he twirled his fingers a roughly cast key seemed to leap into place

Thorin stared at the key in wonder. “How came you by this,” he whispered.

“It was given to me by your father, Thráin, for safe keeping. It is yours now,” Gandalf said, passing the key to Thorin. Freya chewed on a fingernail, furrowing her brow. Was Thorin more important than just the leader of a simple company, intending to take back their home?

“If there is a key,” the blond dwarf mused, “there must be a door.” The dark haired youth next to him seemed to be processing this information slowly.

Gandalf nodded and pointed with the mouth of his pipe to the map. “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.”

"There's another way in," the dark-haired youth exclaimed, grasping at the shoulder of his blonde companion. They smiled proudly at each other for their oh so clever logic. Next to Freya, the dwarf with the odd hat stared in wonder at the two.

“Well, if we can find it. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed,” Gandalf sighed and pointed again to the map, “The answer lies somewhere hidden in this map. And I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can.” At this Thorin and Gandalf shared a look.

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, no small amount of courage, with quantities of wit and patience,” the wizard looked at Bilbo and Freya, “But I believe that if we are careful and clever, that it can be done.”

“That's why we need a burglar and gypsy!” The dwarf with the wispy beard said, proud at the revelation.

“Burglar and gypsy?” 

“And good ones, too. Experts, I'd imagine,” Bilbo said over Freya's mutterings.

“And are you?” asked the red maned dwarf. Bilbo paused and looked at Freya before looking back.

“Are we what?”

“He said they're experts. Heh-hey!” cried the grey haired dwarf from across the red maned, this time holding an odd trumpet to his ear.

“Me? Oh,” Bilbo realized, stepping back, “No, no, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life.”

“I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins,” Balin said. “He's hardly burglar material.”

“What did he mean by 'gypsy'? I've never traveled outside of the Shire in my life!” Freya stated. Bilbo made a sound and nodded his head with both Freya and Balin.

“Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves,” the bald, tattooed dwarf said. Bilbo nodded and pointed, agreeing with him. Freya crossed her arms and frowned. The dwarves were grumbling and growling at each other, and a dwarf that seemed to have an axe in his head was making a 'walking and breaking' motion, which inspired little hope in Freya's view of the journey.

“Enough!” Gandalf stood, a dark cloud that was similar to the mood earlier in the afternoon formed as his temper snapped “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar and Freya Took is a traveler then a burglar and gypsy they are!” the mood eased, leaving the stillness of anxiety in its wake. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustom to the scent of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him- which gives us a distinct advantage.” Bilbo began to protest, but stopped himself as Freya laid a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf continued, this time addressing Thorin, “You asked me to find the fourteenth and fifteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins and Ms. Took. There is a lot more to them than appearances suggest, and a lot more to offer than any of you know! Including themselves.”

Bilbo looked surprised at being described like that, while Freya was pondering why Gandalf would say it.

Gandalf leaned over and spoke to Thorin, who glanced at Freya and Bilbo in distaste, “You must trust me on this.”  
Thorin paused. “Very well, we'll do it your way.”

“No, no,” Bilbo shook his head and hand in protest, “no.”  
“Give them the contract!”  
“We're off!” Said the odd hatted dwarf.  
“It's just the usual summary. Out of pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth,” Balin said as he handed two envelopes to Thorin, who slapped them into Bilbo's chest.

The look Thorin gave Freya withered any confidence she might have had left, he looked as if he was not at all pleased that she was intending on going on the quest, not to mention poor 'grocer' Bilbo. But for some reason he gave into the wizard's cajoling.

“Funeral arrangements?” Bilbo squeaked. Freya plied an envelope out of Bilbo's hand and opened it, only to have one end fall to the ground as the parchment unfolded. Bilbo began to read his out loud, which prevented the other hobbit from concentrating, so she instead leaned over his shoulder as he did so.

“Cash upon delivery, up to but not exceeding one fifteenth of final profit, if any. Seems fair,” he muttered, Freya hummed with agreement. Bilbo turned and she hopped after him on her toes. “Persons of company are not liable for injuries inflicted or sustained by events thereof including but not limited to lac-era-tions, eviscerations,” he opened up a side panel, full of different injury and death types, and Freya winced. “Incineration?” Bilbo stopped and questioned the group.

“Oh, aye. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in a blink of an eye,” it was the blunt dwarf with the odd hat.

Bilbo gasped and lowered his arm. “You all right, laddie?” Balin asked, noticing the hobbit's discomfort. 

“Bilbo?” Freya asked him tentatively.

He leaned over and rested his hands on his knees, half hyperventilating, “Ya, I feel. I feel a bit faint.”

“Think furnace, with wings,” the same dwarf said, standing up. Freya glared at him and said “Shut up.”

“I-I. I need air,” Bilbo said. Freya rested her hand on his back and was about to lead him off when the dwarf continued.

“Flash of light, searing pain. Then, Poof! you're nothing more than a pile of ash,” he continued despite Freya's protest.

Freya grew a wild look in her eye as she opened her mouth to shout, but behind her she heard a “Nope” and a thump. She froze and turned around. Bilbo was unconscious on the flood. She sighed and turned back around, giving the dwarf a 'Now you've done it' look. He had the decency to look a bit guilty.

“That was very helpful, Bofur,” Gandalf said, standing up to help Freya move him onto a chair in the sitting room.

Once he was settled she sighed and looked at Gandalf. “You do realize, that if we do this, the danger that we'll be in,” she said. Gandalf nodded, solemn expression on his face. “And that his reaction is expected,” she mumbled, looking down at her cousin.

“I have great faith in both of you.”

“I'm glad you do, Gandalf. At least one of us does.” Gandalf looked at her with sympathy in his eyes.

“But, I mean,” she sighed, deep in thought as she gazed at a candle flame, “An opportunity like this comes around once in a lifetime, if at all. And I think. I think that this 'adventure' is just what I want. Maybe need. I've always written about hobbits splashing in a river only to be swept off into an adventure, and undying romance, and talking horses and giant eagles. And. And maybe its time for me to have my own. So, I accept. I'll go with and be your 'gypsy'.”

Gandalf smiled at her, quite pleased with himself. “Gypsy is a relevant term used for describing explorer and mapper, and I was hoping you would use your imagination skills to circumscribe our journey in print. But I am happy that you have agreed. Now, it is only the matter left of convincing Mr. Baggins of doing so.”

“That,” Freya raised a finger, “Is your task continued. I am going to sign my funeral arrangements off. Cremation, if the dragon doesn't do that, first.” She wandered out of the room and went to find Balin, who was seated on a stool across from Thorin. They stopped their conversation to look up at the female hobbit.

“Any news of Mr. Baggins?” Balin asked.

“No, he's still unconscious. I've come to sign my contract,” Freya replied, heart pounding at what she was about to do.

“So you are with us? Are you sure, lassie?” the aged dwarf replied as he fished out a copy of the contract, along with a quill.

“Yes,” she nodded, taking the items, “Yes, I am very sure.” She pressed the parchment to a small table and signed her name at the bottom.

Freya straightened her back and handed the contract back to Balin. “There, done,” she said with a sigh.  
“I will sign as witness,” Balin replied, signing on the line right above hers. “And I,” Thorin said.

“Um,” Freya started to say, but stopped.

“Yes, lassie?”

“Could you sign the other one. Just in case Bilbo decides later. Just in case,” her brow was furrowed and she was frowning, but there was determination on her face.

“Of course,” Balin said, and he did. “Thank you,” she turned around and walked a few steps before stopping and facing them again. “May I offer you any refreshments?” she asked.

“No thank you, Freya,” Thorin replied softly. 

“Ah, ehm. Okay,” she turned and walked away, but now she popped into each room, trying to find each dwarf. Some were moseying around in the hallway, some were chatting in the den, others in the living room and a few were still in the pantry and dining area. Some wanted a mug of ale, others nothing, and a few wanted some tea.

She got the three seemingly youngest dwarves another mug of ale, and she brewed a pot of tea. Once the pot was done she placed a mug on the table for Bilbo when he awoke, and offered one to Gandalf, who declined. She gave one to the dwarf with the fussy beard, who gladly accepted, and she herself sat down with one on the stool next to the fire. The balded, tattooed dwarf walked into the room and scanned it.

“Fíli, Kíli,” he said, and two of the young dwarves looked up, “You two need to make sure everyone knows where we're meeting for tomorrow.” They nodded and left, the dark haired one with a little complaint. The blond patted his shoulder and made a joke, making the other smile with him.

Freya watched them all with interest, the way the dwarves acted with each other was much different from how they acted with the hobbits, and even Gandalf. The tri-bearded dwarf caught her staring at them. “Something the matter?” he asked her from his position in the back of the room. 

Freya looked up in surprise, “It's just that I don't know any of your names. I know Thorin's, and Balin's, and of course Bilbo and my own, but none of yours.”

“I will be glad to remedy that,” he replied with a grin. “I am Nori.” 

“Nice to meet you Nori, I am Freya.”

He nodded with a smile and continued, “This is my brother Dori, and my younger brother Ori.” He motioned the the dwarf with fussy-beard the who smiled kindly at her, and the dwarf with the thin beard, who said hello.

“Glóin, at your service, lady Freya,” said the red maned dwarf. 

“Óin at yours,” his assumed brother replied, judging by the similarities of all the related dwarves’ names, trumpet to his ear.

“I apologize about earlier, Ms. Took. I'm called Bofur, the one with the axe in his head is my cousin Bifur, and Bombur, the one stuffing his face, is my brother,” said the dwarf in the odd hat, motioning to the fat, red haired dwarf and the salt and pepper haired dwarf.

“I don’t think much harm was done, but thank you,” she trailed off to look at the cousin he mentioned. She had seen correctly earlier, he did have an axe in his head! “Oh, dear,” she said. 

“Nah, don't worry. He's fine, but just don't expect to be able to understand him. He only speaks Khuzdûl now.”

“Ah, well. Lovely to meet you all,” she said.

The last dwarf in the room that she didn't know the name was the balded, tattooed one. And she was quite tired of calling him that. “I'm Freya, at your service”, she said to him, as it seemed as though that is what dwarves said to each other.

“Dwalin, brother of Balin,” he bowed, “at yours.”

After introductions were made, the tension she didn't know was there dissipated and everyone began to talk freely. Later Thorin and Balin entered the room and settled themselves, and Freya gave Balin her chair as she stood in the back to chat with Nori some more.  
-“So, how is it that you're joining this quest?” “That, my dear, is quite a long story. One for another time.”-  
The dwarves who weren't smoking began to light their pipes, and a few minutes later Gandalf entered the room with news that Bilbo had gone to bed.

That was when the humming began. Freya did not know who started it, but she could tell that Thorin's deep voice was the center of the tone. A movement was at the entrance, and the two young dwarves, Fíli and Kíli, though she did not know which was which, entered.  
And then the singing began.

“Far over the misty mountains cold,  
To dungeons deep, and caverns old.  
We must away, ere break of day,  
To find our long forgotten gold.  
The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning in the night.  
The fire was red, it flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light.”

Freya closed her eyes and let the song wash over her, and for a moment she felt just what it meant to lose one's home to fire, the devastation, the loss and sorrow. She let the song seduce her, solidifying her reason for joining. If not only for her adventure, then for getting them back their home. The song ended and the fire crackle was the only sound for a long time.

Thorin finished his pipe and poured the ashes into the fireplace. “Let's depart,” he said, and all the dwarves got up and began collecting their cloaks and weapons.

“I can’t believe Mr. Boggins! He dropped your daggers all over the floor. And you’d just had ‘em sharpened, too,” one of the dwarves grumbled as he bent down to pick up a dangerous amount of weapons off the floor. 

“No time to dawdle here, boyos. We’d best be off now ta make it ta the inn e’rly enough,” another dwarf grumbled as he opened the door and began herding the others outside. 

“Um, Gandalf. Where and when are we meeting?” Freya spoke up from behind the wizard, warily watching the dwarves pick up their many belongings from the poor coat rack.

“That is an excellent question, Freya. Tomorrow morning at eleven be at The Green Dragon in Bywater, there we shall depart for our long journey to Erebor. Pack lightly, but pack for all weather. The mountains are known for their unforgiving cold.”

“Tomorrow morning? I thought there would be more time! This is a bit short notice, Gandalf.”

“But what would you do in your spare time? Mourn? Plan, visit, pack? A night is all you need, my dear. I shall see you and Bilbo then.”

“So he has accepted?” Freya asked, walking him to the door and watching the dwarves wander into the night.

“No, but he will show. I am sure of it. Good night,” Gandalf said as he stooped out the door.

“Good night!” Freya called to the dwarves, she got a few hoops and hollers back, wishing her the same. For some reason or another this lightened her heart and gave her a newfound energy. Once they were all out of sight she closed the door, shut her eyes and sighed. It was certainly an eventful day.

When she opened her eyes she surveyed the damage that they caused, and decided her energy can be spent on doing a favor for Bilbo. Freya then spent the next hour cleaning up the kitchen, pantry and rooms; erasing the signs of the dwarves. Much of it was lost in her own thoughts, but she knew the deed would not go unnoticed by Bilbo when he awoke tomorrow.

She brewed herself another pot of tea, drank it, and then headed off to her own home not much later. The walk was uneventful, no bumping into dwarves, or getting rained on by trees. She was alone with her thoughts and it was quite peaceful. She unlocked her round blue door when she reached Overhill, and made to pack her bags. She put her warmest and sturdiest clothes in her pack, along with a good many of blank books and writing utensils, money and anything else Freya thought of. Once she deemed it fit for tomorrow, she undressed and crawled into bed, falling right asleep.

Outside it began to rain, little pitter patterns turning into a light storm. Inside each hobbit hole their owners slept peacefully, with no worries of tomorrow. Except in a hole with a blue door, there slept a hobbit with dreams of adventure. They were not nasty, frightful dreams. It was a gypsy's dream, full of exploring, romance and fun. And over that hobbit there watched a cat, observing her and having its own thoughts of tomorrow.


	3. The World is Ahead

Don't waste the day,  
Decide, instead,  
On how you will  
Proceed.  
–

The sun had just begun to crest over the hill of Overhill when Freya awoke in her bed. It would seem like any other day, but there was a creak in her joints that screamed of excitement and foretold adventures, for today she would have her own. 

Her morning ritual remained the same, but with a quickened pace. Today she would not be late. She set to work selecting her clothes for the day as the kettle boiled: a white blouse with a little blue bow, a yellow vest, and a green thick double skirt, all topped with a light brown colored jacket. It was light enough to move around it, but thick enough to protect her from the elements. 

Once the tea was done she poured herself a cup and sat at her small table. As she looked down into her cup, her bangs fell into her eyes and Freya wondered what she should do with her hair. All the dwarves had such long hair, and most of them had it braided. But wouldn't it be a fuss to deal with? She could try to braid it, but her brown hair was wavy and barely went to her shoulders, so it wouldn't turn out well. Freya sighed, hooked a lock around her pointed ear, and just decided to leave it be as she dug into breakfast. 

Later she bustled around the house, picking up things and deciding if she would need them or not. This would be a long journey, and she had no idea when she would be back! 

“Yes,” Freya said, picking up a quill case that she had not packed yesterday evening. “No,” she said to a book of poetry as she placed it on her desk. “Wait,” she picked it back up again, “Urg! This is so hard!” she exclaimed, but she packed it anyway. 

The next few minutes Freya packed a few more things, including a silver, intricately designed dagger from her mother. Where the woman got it, or why, Freya did not know. But after the woman passed away she gave Freya her home and all its possessions in it, rather than her older brother whom Freya had not seen in over a decade. 

From her desk, Freya's cat was watching her pace back and forth through all the rooms in the house. Every now and then the hobbit would dash to the other side to pick something up, either say yes or no, and then dash over to another side of the house. After having enough of this, the cat opened its mouth wide and yowled at its owner.

Freya froze and turned around slowly. “Oh, dear. Nitwick!” She had totally forgotten about her feline friend. The cat could tell and just sat staring at her, disappointed. 

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” Freya stood, hands cupping her head as she stared at her cat. “I can't just take you with, this is dangerous! But I can't just leave you here! Oh, dear. What am I going to do?”

She drug her hands down her face and sat down on a stool. This was quite the dilemma. She sighed again as she looked up at her innocent cat who was staring at her.

As she stood up Freya felt tears in her eyes as she realized the best course of action. She walked over to her cat and picked Nitwick up, cradling him to her chest and digging her face into his fur. Freya sniffled, trying to hold back the fluids coming from her eyes and nose as she said mournfully, “I'm sorry, love. I can't, I just can't bring you with. You have to stay here. Or- or. There's nobody that I can give you to!”

The cat meowed softly as Freya lifted her head, rocking her arms to cradle him. She looked down into the cat's eyes, sorrowful, but she had made her decision. “You can take care of yourself well enough. And I'm sure one of the children will convince their parents to let you stay with them. If you want to. But I can't bring you with!”

She left Nitwick down as she continued to pack with a hardened resolve, pushing back tears. Her cat Nitwick was her dearest friend and only companion for the longest time. To part with him would be to part with her past. “But. Perhaps that's just what I need,” Freya muttered as she stuffed the last book into her pack. 

Freya walked around her home for a few more minutes, checking to make sure that she hadn't forgotten anything. She was just about to pick up her pack and leave before she remembered something.

“What will happen to my home? I'm sure to come back eventually! But what of those nasty neighbors? I must leave a note to shoo them off.” She then grabbed a thin board of wood and took upon it a carving knife and ink to inscribe:

I have departed on an adventure and I expect all to be in order once I return. Therefore I request everyone to stay off of my land and out of my home! This excludes my dearest brother, who will be allowed to reside here if he so choses. 

Freya examined the sign. But it seemed to be lacking something. In a spur of the moment decision she wrote at the bottom:

I leave nothing to nobody. So stay out!

It seemed a bit mean. But it was her home and she knew that the other hobbits might try something. This would hopefully would keep their sticky paws off of it. She grabbed a hammer and nails and struck the sign to her door, at an angle so only someone who was in her garden, and not just passing on the road, could look at it.

Freya went back inside and looked for her cat. Once she found him she picked him up and smothered him with kisses and farewells. After a few minutes of just relishing in embracing him she set him down and grabbed her pack. She ignored his yowls as she opened a window so he could get in and out, set out all of his food, and walked out the door, locking it against intruders. 

“I love you,” she whispered to the door, listening to the cat scratch at it. Freya turned, dried her eyes with her sleeve, and began walking down to the east road.

The trek was uneventful. It was a calm day, and the ground had dried from the storm the night before. Freya was left in her thoughts and was not disturbed as she walked the five miles to Bywater. Which was both a blessing and a curse. She contemplated the sanity of this journey, as well as all that she might lose. But there were also moments where she just looked up and enjoyed the scenery of Hobbiton.

The hour long walk to the The Green Dragon, the name quite ironic, seemed to pass by quickly because the next thing Freya noticed was a bit hubbub of prancing ponies and loud dwarves. She had taken the path that went around the main part of the town, as she had no interest of walking through Bywater, and straight to the inn.

“Ah, Lady Freya!” Bofur exclaimed as he popped around a pony and caught sight of the hobbit walking to the company. “Glad for you to join us!”

“I'm not late, am I?” she asked, cautiously approaching the many ponies. Just how many were there?

“Nah, nah. You're not. We're just loading up the ponies now while Thorin's paying off the innkeeper,” Bofur said leading Freya around the mess of ponies to where the packs were lined up and the dwarves were working... or resting. “Up you get!” Bofur cheered, kicking his brother Bombur's boot as the dwarf had fallen asleep on the bench. “You need to do some work, too!”

Bombur grumbled incoherently as he stood and began lifting all the baggages, packages, parcels, and paraphernalia to Dwalin and Glóin who were fastening them to saddles. 

“Speakin' on which, why don't you pick out a pony, Lady Freya. They should all be pretty tame, so you shouldn't be worrying about temperament. Just find one ya like that doesn't have a pack on it yet,” Bofur smiled as he began placing his own pack onto a pinto pony.

“Thank you, Mr. Bofur!” Freya said, smiling as she walked around to look at the ponies. 

“Just Bofur,” the dwarf laughed, “No need to be calling me Mister.”

“Well, it's only polite,” Freya stood on her tippy toes, trying to keep eye contact with Bofur as she walked through the maze of the ponies, but she could no longer see him as she was squashed between a grey pony and a white one. “But in that case just call me Freya, I'm no lady.”

“Sure you are!” Bofur exclaimed. “But it's only fair, then I'll stop.”

There was chatter as more dwarves came out of the inn and began packing their ponies. Freya was still wandering about trying to find one that didn't look like it was going to bite her head off. 

She stopped at a chocolate pony and stroked its nose, the pony seemed happy to have company and blew into Freya's face, who then giggled. She was so enthralled with the sweet mare that she didn't notice a pack get slung over its back.

Freya cuddled her cheek to the pony's muzzle, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she jumped back, surprised.

“Good morning!” the dwarf cheered as Freya cried out in surprise. The brown haired youth had stuck his head around his pony to greet the hobbit, but hadn't expected on startling her. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said sheepishly as he finished tightening one of his packs, “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Freya's eyes were still wide with fright, hand on her chest as she tried to even her breathing. “It's... okay. Um.” She pointed at him, questioning look on her face. 

“Fíli?” Freya asked, trying to guess his name. The two youths were the only ones she hadn't met last night. 

The dwarf rolled his eyes, “Kíli.”

“Kíli?” There was a difference? Freya was a bit baffled, but she guessed it was to be expected. Apparently all dwarven siblings had common names. So Fíli must be his brother.

“Kíli,” the brown haired youth said, smiling at her.

“Ah.” Freya's mouth was gaping a bit from her confusion. “Um. Freya,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“Freya?” Kíli asked, teasing.

“Now you're mocking me,” Freya said as a frown formed on her face. She turned to find another mount but Kíli grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Wait,” he laughed, “I was just messing with you.” Freya crossed her arms and gave a 'humph'.

“Let's try that again. Good morning.” He was still smiling at her. Freya gave a pause. 

“Good morning,” she said with a small smile.

“That's better,” Kíli cheered as he playfully smacked Freya's shoulder, almost knocking her over. 

“Er, I- uh. I need to find a pony still,” said Freya as she rubbed her shoulder, casting the exuberant dwarf an annoyed look. 

“Why didn't you say so? There's still that brown one over there, and that grey one...” 

“You kind of took the one I wanted,” Freya muttered, but it went unheard by the dwarf as he continued listing off the ponies apparently not claimed.

“And lastly this white one right here,” Kíli said, patting the pony next to his.

“I told you already, Minty's mine,” came a voice from behind Kíli. At least it didn't startle Freya, as she wasn't paying attention. She was instead trying to find a pony without a pack on it, standing on the tips of her toes trying to look over the packs and bundles of hair, but was rudely interrupted when Kíli grabbed her arm again and twirled her around to face another dwarf.

“Fíli! Freya, meet my brother Fíli. Fee, this is our hobbit gypsy, Freya,” Kíli said beaming, happy to be the one to introduce his new friend to his favorite person. 

“Would you just leave me alone!?” Freya snapped as she jerked her arm out of Kíli's grasp. She turned around and stomped off, leaving the two dwarves in a daze. 

“What did I do?” Kíli asked his brother, mortified. 

Fíli shrugged and placed his pack on his pony, “Women.”

Meanwhile, Freya had finally found a pony that nobody had claimed, and she sling her pack over onto its back. The chestnut gelding jumped as she began tightening the straps to keep it on, as she grumbled angrily about dwarves.

“You're planning on riding in that?”

“What!?” Freya growled, turning to the person unfortunate enough to intrude on her silence. “Oh, Nori. I'm so sorry. Just- ah.”

“Are you alright Freya?” Nori turned away from his roan pony to look at the hobbit who was rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. She stopped and looked at the ground.

“Just a bad morning, I guess. I'm okay now,” she blinked away the tears that had formed from her frustration. It wasn't like her to be so irritable. She just wanted to get this over with and be on her way.

“If you say so,” the dwarf shrugged, “But as I asked, are you going to ride in that?”

“Ride in what?” Freya looked down at her clothes.

“I doubt skirts are made for being ridden in,” Nori said a-matter-of-factly as he turned back to his pony. 

“All well respected women wear skirts. What do you expect me to ride in? I don't own anything else,” Freya examined her clothes again. She didn't own anything else, but she did doubt it would be all that comfortable to be ridding with a skirt on. Besides, all the other companions were wearing pants.

“You're not a 'well-respected' hobbit anymore. You're an adventurer. A gypsy,” Nori grinned at her as he finished tightening the girth of his pony, ignoring her frown, “How about this, you finish up your pony there and we'll buy you some trousers so you won't be a-rubbin' up your legs while we ride.”

“I can't complain,” Freya muttered, turning back to her pony. But she paused. She didn't know what else to do with it. She hadn't ridden in a long time, and her mother always tacked the ponies for her.

“Here,” Nori cut in and fixed her pack, “You don't want that to be falling off.” He tightened the saddle and fixed the stirrups for her, since her legs were so short.

“Let's go then,” he told her, smiling as he ruffled her hair. Freya sputtered, annoyed at the action, but she followed anyway.

They wandered around to a general store, but Nori deemed whatever he was looking for unacceptable, and he walked out and in to a few more stores before they landed at a tailor's. Freya hung behind him as he talked with the clerk, they were speaking loudly and making wild gestures before they seemed to come to an agreement. The clerk walked to the back room and was gone for a few minutes before coming back with a large parcel. 

“Five silver pennies,” the clerk growled at Nori as he slapped him the parcel, “And no less!”

“Oh, um, here” Freya stuttered as she opened up her money pouch to pay for the parcel.

“It's okay,” Nori said, staying her hand as he paid for and took the package. “It's a gift. From one adventurer to another,” he said as he handed it to her.

“Thank you very much, Nori!” Freya cheered, smiling wide at his kindness.

They walked back to the inn and saw that almost everyone was mounted and ready to head out. Bofur, who was helping Bombur onto his mount called out to her to get onto her own pony.

“You can put it on later, once we've made camp,” said Nori as he placed the parcel into her bag. Freya nodded, thanking him again. He mounted his pony as Freya stared at hers. Looking at the shaggy chestnut gelding now, she realized that the pony didn't look too friendly. She turned to ask Nori for help, but a sharp pain to her rear end startled her. She whirred around there her pony stood, looking much to innocent for her tastes. The fool bit her! Freya puffed her shoulders up and was prepared to give the pony a stern talking to...

“Up you go!” came a voice as Freya was lifted upwards and onto the back of her pony.

Bofur laughed at her fearful face as he placed her foot in a stirrup. “I'm surprised you chose this one, he's a loud little sucker. Was neighing the whole morning. Best to be left as a pack, if you asked me.”

“Ah,” Freya faltered. “Thank you Bofur. Well, the one I wanted kind of got stolen.”

Bofur easily hopped onto his pony and reigned it in next to hers, “Which one was that?”

Freya gestured with her head, too afraid to move her hands from the saddle. “Ah, Kíli took it now, did he? You should have told 'em off, the spoiled kit.”

“No. Um. He had her first,” Freya said, looking at her own pony that was giving her an evil eye. She could have sworn she saw its eyes flash.

“Relax,” said Nori as he drew his pony onto the other side of hers. “Just sit up straight, your pony will follow the others.”

“Ya, we'll make sure nothing goes sour,” Bofur said, smiling. 

Freya began to relax, the two dwarves were a great comfort. They were so friendly, even though they didn't have to be. She smiled at them both.

The door to the inn closed and Thorin and Gandalf walked out. Gandalf scanned the company, counting to himself. When he saw Freya he seemed very pleased and nodded his head at her, but he seemed to be searching for someone in particular. Thorin mounted his pony and didn't bother to look at the whole of the company, but instead spied Fíli and Kíli still on the ground.

"Up you two get, and off we go!" said Thorin.

The company murmured to themselves and the ponies began to walk.

“Aren't we going to wait for Bilbo?” Freya asked.

“What for? We all saw how he was last night. There's no place for him here,” Nori shrugged.

Freya grew downcast at that, how Bilbo acted was how Freya had felt.

“I, for one, think that the burglar's going to turn up,” Bofur cheered, giving a wink to Freya.

“Oh, you still think he's going to show?” asked Nori, a glint in his eye.

“I do.”

“You want to bet?” Nori grinned.

“You're the one who's going to be losing their coin. If the burglar's anything like our dear hobbit here, he'll show up before we touch the East Road!” Bofur laughed.

“Aye! Who wants to make a gamble of whether or not the hobbit's going to show!” Óin shouted, having listened in to the conversation.

A chorus of “Aye!” rang out, and soon all the dwarves save a few were betting. Even Gandalf threw his hat into the wager that Bilbo would show. However, only he, Bofur and Óin had bet that Bilbo would show. Everyone else had a large pot against.

“Aren't you going to throw in a bit of coin? Don't you have faith in your cousin?” Bofur asked, having tallied the stakes.

“Oh, I didn't know that I could...” Freya muttered, not sure that she wanted to get caught up in the gamble. “Well, a few coins couldn't hurt?”

“That's the spirit!” Nori cheered.

“Watch out,” Bofur joked, “Nori'll cheat you out of house and home.”

“Hey!” Nori protested and the dwarves began a good natured argument. Freya sat back in her saddle, having finally relaxed. Her pony was following Ori and Dori's ponies with ease, glad to not being bossed around.

“I suppose you need a name,” Freya told the pony, who turned its head slightly to her and gave a loud neigh. Startled, Freya jerked back.

“I told you he was a noisy one!” joked Bofur as he and Nori chuckled.

“I think I have the perfect name for you, you bungle!” The dwarves laughed again at her irritation.

“I swear! The pony bit my rear earlier!” she exclaimed, only to have her companions lean over their saddles to keep from rolling off in laughter. 

“What's so funny, I'm being serious. You said that all the ponies were nice! This one's a menace!”

“Well he is Bungle the pony, now. And I think he likes you,” Bofur joked as the pony turned and chomped down on Freya's foot.

“Ow! That's just mean,” Freya growled after jerking her boot from the horse's mouth. She leaned her feet back as far as they could go, since the pony seemed to be keen on taking another bite out of her boots. 

“Anyone want to trade?” Freya called, but frowned as she realized the whole company was laughing at her, even Gandalf.

“No way!” the blond dwarf, Fíli, joked as he and took Nori's spot next to her. Her two friends abandoned her with a grin as they slipped in front of her.

“Maybe if you could talk to him he'll tell you what's wrong,” Kíli said with mock seriousness, as he, too, slipped up next to her.

“That's absurd, horses and ponies can't talk!” Freya protested, looking in between the two.

“But if they did, what would they say?” Kíli continued with the same tone of voice, grinning as Freya was looking stumped. 

“Hello, I'm Mister Bungle,” Fíli joked, doing a fake horse snort. He and Kíli pulled fiddles out of their pack and began to do something Freya did not expect.

“A horse is a horse, of course of course,  
and no one can talk to a horse of course,  
that is of course, unless the horse,  
Is the mean, old Mister Bungle! 

Go right to the source and ask the horse.  
He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse.  
He's always on a steady course.  
Talk to Mister Bungle.

People yak-it-ti-yak a streak  
and waste your time of day,  
but Mister Bungle will never speak,  
unless he has something to say... 

A horse is a horse, of course of course,  
And this one will talk 'til his voice is hoarse.  
You never heard of a talking horse?  
Well, listen to this... 

I am Mister Bungle”

Freya turned red, mortified at the whole company teasing her about her horse through song. How they could all sing a song that Fíli and Kíli just made up, Freya would never know. Bungle snorted, as if agreeing with the dwarves' song, and he stopped trying to bite Freya's feet.

“Oh, my,” Freya said a bit stunned, after her face turned a little less red.

“You missed out first song, Ms. Freya! We had to sing you a tune,” Kíli grinned. Fíli laughed with him.

Freya took a deep breath, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. “Um, thank you. I guess. That was lovely. Well, I'm sorry about earlier. I was just in a bad mood and I didn't mean to take it out on you,” She apologized sheepishly. 

“It's okay, you didn't scare Fíli too badly!” Kíli joked, looking relieved. Freya furrowed her eyebrows, Kíli was the one most affected by her rash words, why was he blowing it off like it was Fíli she insulted? She opened her mouth to continue her apology but she saw Fíli cast her an odd look as he and Kíli put away their fiddles.

Freya paused, and instead asked, “Do you all have instruments?”

“Of course,” Fíli replied, “Us dwarves love to sing and compose music. We all brought our instruments with for entertainment. It's going to be a long journey.”

Kíli nodded, “Me and my brother play the fiddle. Dori, Nori and Ori have flutes. Bifur and Bofur have clarinets and Bombur his drums. Dwalin and Balin play their Viols quite nicely, but they couldn't pack them, and Uncle Thorin plays the harp. Do you play anything?”

“Thorin's your uncle?” Freya asked, surprised.

“Yes, our he is our mother's brother,” Fíli said.

“Well, com' on, do you play anything?” Kíli asked eagerly, cutting off anything more that Fíli was going to say about their family.

“I- I play the lute, but I haven't packed it,” Freya replied.

“The lute?” Fíli and Kíli asked at the same time, with an odd tone of voice.

“What's wrong with the lute? It's a perfectly acceptable instrument!” 

“But it's so...” Fíli started.  
“Elvish!” Kíli finished.

“Well, what's wrong with being Elvish?” Freya defended her preferred instrument.

Kíli made an 'ick!' sound in the back of his throat as Fíli explained, “Us dwarves don't like elves very much. I apologize for offending your instrument. If you have the opportunity I would love to hear you play.”

“It's all right, I suppose,” Freya sniffed indignantly. “But, thinking of music and parties, how did you enjoy it at Bilbo's last night? Was it the first time you've been in a Hobbit Hole?”

“We got to eat food and knock things over. It was great!” Fíli grinned.

“We destroyed the place, it's such a shame. It was a really gorgeous home, if a bit small,” Kíli continued. 

“Small? Bag End is actually a large Hobbit Hole,” Freya said, thinking how much smaller her own home was.

“Really?” Fíli asked. 

“Ya, you don't need much to sate a hobbit,” Freya explained.

“What satisfies you?” Kíli asked, leaning over to look Freya in the face. She turned to him looking a bit confused. 

“I beg your pardon?” Freya didn't know where he was going with this. To her ears his question sounded lewd. 

“What do you enjoy?” Kíli rephrased, leaning back in his saddle. He seemed quite comfortable up high on his pony, unlike the other dwarves who were still grumbling about the bumpy ride. 

“I myself enjoy peace and quiet. And a good book. Nothing beats a good book. Therefore my 'small' home suits me perfectly,” Freya said haughtily as she focused keenly at the road in front of her.

“Well, what do you like?” Freya asked after a moment of silence from the boys. She hadn't meant to offend them.

“Big rooms of course! And darker, not all those windows that Mr. Boggins had. Somewhere like the Blue Mountains. That is a gorgeous land for dwarves,” said Kíli in a dreamy tone.

“The Blue Mountains? Where's that at?”

“Far west of here. We came from there, the mountains were our old home,” Fíli said, also reminiscing.

“Do you miss it?” The boys snapped out of their devour. “Your home?” Freya elaborated.

“Aye, very much so. But we're hoping on making a new one at the Lonely Mountain,” said Fíli.

“Why?” questioned Freya.

“Why what?” Kíli asked.

“Why go on this quest at all? What is this quest to you and your uncle?”

“That is a very long story,” Fíli said.

“But in short, we're here for the adventure, Uncle Thorin's here to reclaim his kingdom,” Kíli said with a shrug.

“Kingdom?” What did that mean?

“Aye, kingdom. Uncle Thorin is Heir to the Throne. He's the King Under the Mountain,” Fíli said proudly. 

“If we had a mountain,” Kíli rolled his eyes.

“King!? That's a- hm,” Freya thought a moment, “That makes sense. What does that make you two, then? Your mother would also be an heir, right?”

“Mother wants no part in politics. And since Uncle Thorin has no children of his own we're the next in line. Princes, if you will,” the brunette dwarf smirked, trying to impress the hobbit.

“Princes? That's hard to believe,” Freya laughed, causing Kíli's face to fall. Fíli rolled his eyes at his brother. 

Freya saw his look and felt guilty. “Well, I mean-”

“No, it's okay,” Fíli said, “We haven't had much 'princely' training. Mostly history lessons, fighting and basic politics that we catch from Uncle's meetings. We're not even sure which one of us would become king if something were to happen to Uncle.” 

“You, of course!” Kíli butted in.

“But that's okay, really. We are here for the adventure. But if we couldn't face the consequences or responsibility then we wouldn't be here,” Fíli finished solemnly. Kíli nodded his head in agreement, looking at his brother.

Freya paused, glad to be riding a pony or she would have stopped walking. The depth and history of all that was going on around her was immense. The boy's responsibility was great, but not as great at Thorin's. He had reason to be solemn, not just losing his home but his kingdom as well. This was really not just an adventure for some of them, but a task. 

She sat upon her Bungle and stared at the gorgeous scenery. Kíli and Fíli were silent, allowing Freya to enjoy the first moment of peace since this morning. Somehow they had drifted to the end of the company, and Freya could observe all of her companions. Instead she turned her eye to the woods at her left and right. Birds were happily chirping and Freya even heard a few frogs croak. Sun shown down, warming Freya's face as she turned to look up at the tree's canopy. 

It was indeed a pleasant day, and a nice start to a very, very long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 1 and 2 have been edited and slightly modified, but not enough that you have to go back and check. Sorry for the wait, I've been collecting my thoughts and progress of how I want this story to proceed, as well as going over the previous chapters. Questions? Comments? Please review!


End file.
